"Man never exists entirely in the present"
She woke up with duct tape over her mouth. The first thing she registered, even without opening her eyes, was that the skin around her mouth and cheeks felt oddly tight and stretched. When she tried to lick her lips, her tongue ran up against a strange obstruction. The muscles in her jaw tightened and tried a few more experimental movements, and then she tried to raise her hands to her mouth, to brush away whatever was on her face. Her arms were tied behind her back.
Eyes snapping open, her stomach muscles contracted and she swung into a sitting position. The car went over a bump and her whole contracted body rocked backwards. She slammed her skull on a window.
She shrieked into the glue on the tape as her gaze ricocheted off the ceiling and the backs of the two front seats. Everywhere her vision landed she was confronted with tan upholstery, old and in some places streaked with gray smears of what might have been axle grease. She twisted back and forth, ignoring the spreading red pain in her head. Her feet were also throbbing, and looking down she saw that her bare toes were entirely the wrong color. A silver figure eight of tape secured her feet together at the ankle. She screamed again into the tape and shook her head vigorously, which hurt like hell.
“Hello love. Welcome back to the world.”
She stopped thrashing and stared at the back of the driver’s head. From her fetal position, all she could see of him was his dark, short hair, feathered with gray. In the rearview mirror, brown eyes glanced at her twice more from under raised eyebrows. She made a noise that might not have been English even with the tape removed.
“Stay calm.” He said, “Everything is still pretty much alright.”